


Puppet

by EnsorcelledReader



Series: Storymatic Prompts [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Conspiracy, Dystopia, Horror-ish, cashier at a dollar store, clothes don't fit right, graffiti artist, lottery ticket, storymatic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 21:53:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4682732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnsorcelledReader/pseuds/EnsorcelledReader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, this is a story I made using storymatic. It's just a short story. It's not very good. I don't expect anyone to read it. If by some chance you do stumble upon this and decide to read it, please make sure to read the notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Puppet

**Author's Note:**

> Storymatic is this collection of over 500 prompts. You are supposed to take two character cards to create your protagonist and two story cards to weave your story around. All cards are drawn randomly. The ones I drew were "Graffiti Artist", "Cashier at a dollar store", "lottery ticket", and "clothes don't fit right".

Two men usher you down the hall. The tile floor cold beneath your feet. You can’t walk well; disorienting black surrounds you. Darkness is all you’ve ever known; your life up to this point has been nothing more than an endless obsidian screen. How old you are; who has been taking care of you…you know nothing, as the caretakers never spoke. And every time you’ve tried to explore you’ve been met with unending walls with no exit and no people. Sometimes you mutter to yourself just to hear what sound is. The room has always been awfully quiet.

They say you’ve won the annual lottery; whatever that means. You hear distant screams of anguish and pleas for mercy off to the side; you pass it quickly though; the men tug hard. You’re clutching a piece of paper in your hand…”A ticket” they called it. You wish you could see, as more screams come and go. And you wonder what fresh hell you are in. From sensory deprivation to sensory overload. It’s torture, but at the same time grounding in a reassuring way. You are real.

Walking is hard and you’re unsteady on your feet, walking isn’t something you’ve done a lot in your life. You are also very tired; the bombarding of the senses has left you tense and desperate for that quiet that you despised for so long. You are granted the unspoken wish as you hear something open and you are forced inside. The men guide you to a bed and you lie down. They don’t leave though. Instead you hear a voice; it’s startling and unnerving; but you can’t tell if that’s because of the voice or because it’s the first time you’ve heard a voice other than your own.

“She’s small.”

“She will do; with the right enhancements no one will know or suspect anything.”

“She is the right age and the right height. Everything else can be manufactured. It’s not you job to judge, just do as you are told.”

Three voices. The first…higher, lighter than the others which seemed to boom and ground into the earth. You hear shuffling and a loud slamming sound…then a sigh. The light voice speaks again.

“Let me see your ticket dear.”

You feel you hand manipulated by a gentle grasp. “My, they want you to get the full treatment don’t they? They just love giving me big projects….try to relax.” Of course, you don’t understand anything. The first thing you truly understand from these people is the horrible pain that courses through your eye sockets. Wet and squishy and hot and burning. Nothing to dull the pain. No, you endure. Screaming and trying to cry, but it feels like whatever hot thing is touching you has soldered your tear ducts shut. The tears won’t fall and it only intensifies the pain to try. It only takes the adding of some horrific liquid to the sockets to push you past your limit and a joyous merciful quiet overtakes you.

 

Your body hurts. Everything hurts and feels crusted and oozing. Mouth warm and inflamed; eyes welded shut; searing scalp;…and hot lines around your body. You hear some movement and tense up; whoever’s there seems to have noticed you and pokes you with something…the sympathetic abyss claims you once more.

 

This time when you awake; you can see. See so much more than you though possible and there is brightness and color and it’s sharp and assaulting to your senses. A person comes in. Long fine material flowing from the top of her and a transparent substance held by a colorful border clings to her face. She looks at you and her mouth grows across her countenance; you do your best to copy it. She makes sounds at you and you continue the mimic; hoping she’ll leave you alone. Instead she becomes exasperated and brings in another person. They have a big complex looking machine. They detach part of it with an excessively pointy end and grab hold of your face. You fight, but to no avail. A pierce at the back of your skull and a strangled cry emanates from your mouth and shocks down your spine. Your newly acquired sight goes fuzzy and you no longer feel.

You are floating; not conscious or unconscious. You are perfectly aware of everything around you; but at the same time nothing registers. There is a flurry that you are aware of; a fleeting understanding of what’s happening in the blizzard of your mind. Sounds that are and aren’t there. Names, language, knowledge….memories? So much information; no sleep. Not for a long time.

Your name is Jessica. You are twenty-five years old; you grew up in Portland, Oregon all of your life. Your parents are have been badgering you to get a real job for the past year now; instead of working through an Etsy store. You never make much; but it’s enough to keep you afloat, so you tell them you’re fine where you’re at. A myriad of geeky tattoos run up and down your body; which you take pride in. Especially the pi tattoo. Pi/pie puns always make you laugh. There’s something that you’re not remembering though; like how you ended up in a federal detention center. What did you do? You remember helping some friends with the May Day protests; but then it all disappears. Apparently you were wounded and have been here a while. The clothes they gave you don’t fit right; but you try not to complain.

“Jessica Smith?” You stand. A severe looking woman with completely overdone make-up beckons you forth; and you do as commanded. You two walk down the hall in silence…a slight headache pushes at the front of your skull; you ignore it. The endless tortuous hallways takes a lifetime to finally navigate to the proper room. Such a hassle.

_The sleeves are too short._

Entering, you are met with a scream; it rings throughout the room. Bloodcurdling, heart pounding, desperate and sad. It is your own scream. Viscera and blood coat the walls and line the floor. “Shit” You hear from behind. “Code orange! CODE ORANGE” The lady raises her voice as she can’t be heard over your cries. It isn’t just the sight; no, something comes back…your name isn’t Jessica. The girl in front of you is Jessica. People rush in and pull you out; your voice is gone; but the nature of the screams still penetrate the atmosphere.

_The bust area is too small._

They’ve changed you, molded you; created you. You are not real, you only exist as a proxy; a fake human. They inject you with a sedative and oblivion calls you home.

 

They said it’s too late to turn back. You were never at the May Day protests. Jessica is already gone; they’ll have to find a new solution. Damn you for becoming a sentient doll; damn the techs for not cleaning properly. Jessica was; that’s when they put her on the list for substitution; too dangerous. With her political graffiti decorating the various alleyways and that horrid display that caused the start of the riots. Too dangerous.

_The pants come up short._

They try for days to recalibrate you. To reign you back to their prescribed realm of desirability. They fail for a long while. You rebelled; you didn’t want to be a puppet anymore; but they wouldn’t let you go. They wouldn’t free you with either liberty from this iron prison or from the chains of animate existence. You tried so hard. You really did. They found a combination of drugs and ECT that worked though. Nothing is inside you; no soul; no mind; no individuality. Merely a shell that follows orders…

“You will give into your family’s wishes. You will no longer explore art or politics and focus on obtaining a typical domestic life. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir.”

“You are to do this as gradually as possible. Starting with the online establishment; simply say you were no longer making the money you need. You applied for several jobs and were able to achieve employment as a cashier at a Dollar Tree.”

“Yes sir.”

_Your clothes fit properly. Nothing out of place; nothing is wrong._

“Before you go please sign your name here.”

You sign the name “Jessica Smith” in flawless script.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I just wanted to take a small break from fanfiction before I start filling requests and working on sequels.


End file.
